A Blank Page For You
by MrsMess
Summary: Takes place immediately after "Only say 'no' if you really don't want to be with me." in 4.22. Canon divergent. My first ever literati-fic and sex-scene. Previously published on Ao3. I'm new to .


[RORY]

Her impulse is to shout "no". Every word out of his mouth is scary. Hurts her. Rips up old wounds. Him professing his trustworthiness desperately feels, not at all as too little, but too late. She's had too much time to think ugly things about him. Him asking her to come with him. Into the unknown. It infuriates her. She's already done that, to the best of her abilities. She would have done it earlier, if he'd bothered to ask her. How could he not know by now that she has ties she cannot break, doesn't want to break. Or if he knows, how could he ask her to? Him coming from absence to presence with such presence in this dark room. From nothing to everything. Asking everything. She doesn't have to make speeches to hurt him back, she can just say no. She pictures it and sees the inevitable leather-clad back of his departure. Her stomach churns. She makes a break for it, instinctively running into her room. He follows, grasping her hand to turn her around. She rips it from him.

"No!" She barks. "You don't get to do that; Set the stage and demand answers! I should be the one to ask questions and make ultimatums. Ungentle reminder: You left me! Without saying goodbye – three times!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" He bursts out, voice unsteady. "The last thing I wanted was to hurt you, but it felt like I was, just by being with you. I wanted it to stop. Figured it was better to just be gone."

She lets out a bitter laugh.

"But the truth is I didn't think." He pauses, swallows, and continues quieter, shaking his head: "And then I couldn't stay gone or let you be completely. And I'm sorry for that too."

"And now you ask me to leave with you! No way. I have a life, here. Goals and family. You're one of the smartest people I know but how you'd think I was going to jump on that idea is beyond me."

He looks defeated.

"And before that you go on about how I can count on you now, but you can't just expect me to take your word for it, and it's a little scary that you think I'm that naïve. You earn trust! You're going to have to prove that before you can ask me for anything!" She finishes with emphasis.

He stands perfectly still, shoulders hunched and head hanging. He makes one movement as if to put his hands in his pockets, but stops himself and lets them be by his sides. She abruptly finds herself terrified that he's going to run again, so she takes a big step until she's right in front of him. In an act to prevent him from bolting she takes his hand, grasps it high up towards the wrist, and squeezes it. She realizes that the act might seem reassuring to him, but the person she wants to reassure is herself.

He looks up at her, his eyes are dark and confused. Her heartbeat is suddenly thunderous, echoes in her head and vibrates through her. Right, she thinks, this is what he feels like. He kisses her. It's sudden, but soft. Lips grazing hers, his eyes still open, as if to look for danger. Inside her, something breaks. Her anger is momentarily ripped apart by sadness. Her sadness gives way to longing. She kisses him back, escalating it by prying his mouth open and leaning him into the doorway behind him. She feels like the dark room itself, she can see nothing, identify or make sense of nothing. All she does is feel, his kiss, his body against her after so long and her inside spins with a myriad of emotions. Longing, anger, need, sadness, exaltation, grief and lust poses a storm inside and it's dizzying, but her struggle for order is deafened by it, and for once she lets it be. In the brief pauses between kisses, in repositioning, he gasps out words. "I'm so sorry", "I missed you". His voice sounds strange, uneven, broken. His words, the feeling of him, here, not gone, makes her act with urgency. She unzips his jacket to get closer, and ends up with her hands up his back under his t-shirt. He jerks at the touch. A strange movement that seems to be both acceleration and deceleration. One of his arms presses her closer and the other's hand strokes her jaw and neck, focusing on the kiss and caress. She responds by drawing her fingers down to the small of his back, playing with the rim of his pants. She hooks her fingers in the loops of the garment and pulls him closer by that particular part of him. They both read her move at that moment and react. He lets go of her mouth to inhale sharply, and she opens her eyes to try to get her bearings. His eyes find hers and they stare at each other for a second before she makes the decision and plunges into action.

She leans slightly backwards and pulls him with her for three strides, until the back of her legs hit the bed and its bare mattress. She tears herself off him for seconds while climbing the bed until she's on her knees on it, facing him. He looks at her, his face serious, then lowers his gaze and puts his hands on her hips, fingers grazing the naked skin of her stomach. Her breathing feels strained and she's impatient, but trying to let him take his time. He lifts her shirt slightly and looks at the visible piece of skin with something close to a frown, he seems miles away. One of his hands travels to her back and strokes her there with even circles by his thumb, and the other unbuttons her jeans. His eyes move to her face and his chest heaves. She can't read his expression, his eyes are black and she thinks she can see lust dimming them, but he looks concerned at the same time. She kisses him again, deeply and determined, grabs him by the neck and shoulders and pulls him onto the bed. He lands on top of her, facing her breasts. She folds out her legs on either side of him and uses the motion to move him upward until their mouths interlock again. This is as close as she's ever been with anyone and she fights off a year old memory of the two of them in another dark room where everything fell apart. His hands stroke the side of her chest and she quickly undoes the buttons of her shirt and puts his hand on top of her bra. He gives a slight moan and her legs begin to shake as she feels him through layers of clothes. It's the most invasive physical feeling she's experienced up to that point and she responds to it with a few loud breathes. He stills at this, burying his head at the crook of her neck and obviously struggling to regain control. After a few seconds he pulls his head up and looks at her. His eyes still black, but clear.

"This isn't why I came here," he whispers with force.

"Sorry, you don't get to set the agenda for this conversation," she hisses, and the amount of resentment in her voice scares her. She searches herself for a rational part, the part that's might talk her off this, but realizes that she doesn't want that part anywhere near this moment. That part wouldn't just talk her down, it would talk him out of this room, out of her life, far away and forever. She whimpers with fear at the thought and presses her lips to his again. He returns the kiss but his body remains still. A few seconds pass before he starts to move, now with determination. He unbuttons the rest of her shirt and drags it off her sideways, then sits and gently peels her jeans and socks off her. He pulls off his own shirt and undoes his pants. He's on his knees now, looking down at her, no longer concerned, just serious. She stops breathing and returns the look, trying to read his mind. Another few seconds pass, but they feel like minutes, hours.

"I don't have any –" she starts.

"I do," he intermits, finally picking up his wallet from his back pocket and taking out a flat, square package. For a moment she feels a bit nauseous.

"Did you - ?" She blurts, unable to contain it.

"No," he interrupts firmly, his eyes suddenly laced with pain. "Not since I fell in love with you."

She fights off questions about exactly how long ago that was and swallows hard, trying to rid herself of the inexplicable lump in her throat. Silence.

"Did you?" He asks hesitantly.

"No," she says. "Never."

He nods, and his expression is one of the softest she's ever seen on him. He lays down next to her, without breaking eye contact, reaches out a hand and strokes her cheek. She wonders if she looks scared, she longs for the heated touches of a few minutes before, now she feels too self-conscious. Yet she forces herself to lay still, and wait. His gaze continues to trail her face, she can almost feel it, then it meets hers and something changes. His eyes gains resolve and heat and he kisses her again. She's nervous now, in a way she wasn't before. She realizes that she was daring him in a way, and that she had not predicted a future beyond that. Her body is throbbing with want but her mind is fluttering like a trapped bird. He slows his kisses as if privy to her inner workings. She feels herself getting angry again, at herself this time... Something has to change. She pulls back and fixes him with her gaze, reaches back and unclasps her bra, tossing it on the empty floor and wriggles out of her panties. Just like before she feels her pulse in her entire body, and she understands that it's anticipation she's feeling, not fear. To avoid his intense stares further, she grabs his elbows and pulls him on top of her, placing his hands on her breasts. He strokes her, with one hand down the side of her body and in between her legs. She tenses unlicensed and internally curses her treacherous self. He pulls back his face to regard her, but doesn't stop his hand from moving. She can't stand to return the look but relaxes her legs to allow him access. He touches her carefully and brings his other hand to her face, her chin, mouth and cheek, drawing his thumb over them, mirroring the touches of the other. She gasps as he hits the right spots and he repeats those moves with increasing urgency. She turns her head to see his face; his eyes are closed and he's wearing a look of utter engrossment. A wave of devotion swells and breaks in her chest as well as a trickle of laughter, but then he touches her just right again, and it stops being funny. He feels her head's movement and opens his eyes to look at her. His mouth falls slightly open and his eyes glitter. His breathing is faster and heavier than moments ago. He deliberately closes his eyes, just to re-open them and focus on her.

"Are you sure about this?" He manages.

She returns the look steadily.

"Yes."

He nods again and pulls his pants all the way off with a surprisingly elegant move. He retrieves the flat package from the rim of his boxers and then kicks them off as well. Her first instinct is to avert her eyes, but when she feels a flash of anger at her own prudishness, she looks back at him. He's ripping the package using his fingers and teeth, all the while looking at her, a slight apologetic smile on his lips. She feels herself blushing violently but uses her anger to keep her attention on him. Another swift move, and he moves back on top of her, his face mere inches from hers. One hand disappears back between her legs and he starts rubbing his thumb over her clit. Her mouth falls open as she gasps.

"I love you," he says, and covers her mouth with his, kissing her deeply while pushing himself inside her.

She whimpers into his mouth when the pain bites. He moves slowly, but steadily, and the stinging subsides slightly and gets mixed up with every other sensation and emotion she's experiencing. He's still rubbing her and she understands now that it's an efficient distraction from the pain he probably knew she would feel. She looks to his face and he meets the gaze. It's a look of pure vulnerability. She nearly comes undone for it and takes several quick and sharp breaths. He tries to form words, but she puts her hands to his lips and says his name, trying to convey that he doesn't have to speak. She wraps her other hand around his neck and pulls his face to hers, kissing him. This lasts for a few seconds until he breaks away to look at her.

"I can't – " he starts.

She nods vehemently to make sure he knows that she gets it. His movements become increasingly erratic until his body tenses and a stifled moan makes its way through his nose. He slumps forward slightly.

"Hold on, hold on," he mumbles while he shakes. Her legs are trembling and she breathes in short bursts, affected by the sensation of his climax and the overwhelming intimacy of this moment. He pulls the condom off, ties it together and tosses it into a corner, and, still panting, resumes touching her. She has no walls left standing, and surrenders to his hands and eyes, clings to him and cries out as she comes.

While regrouping she keeps her face to his neck, eyes closed listening to his slowing breath and her own heartbeat. He smells and feels familiar, same as before this whole fiasco of a year. Her mind wanders back to one of the last perfect moments they had together. Late afternoon on a weekday. On Luke's couch, a book each, entangled. The moment was not unique, Luke's was basically the only place she felt comfortable relaxing with him and there they were, alternating between reading and making out, taking turns choosing music or silence. A chill goes through her and she's harshly reminded of the lack of comfort in her emptied out dorm room and the time between her and her memory. She rises unsteadily and makes her way to the bathroom.

She stands in the bathroom in front of the mirror for a couple of minutes looking at herself. She narrows her eyes so that her vision goes blurry. There are spots of red in the light of her skin; one spot marks her mouth, two the cheeks and cheekbones, and two more surrounds the black of her eyelashes. She focuses her vision to look into her own eyes, their rims are red and rosy spots surround them, her mascara is smudged. She's been crying, although she can't really remember when, too many mixed emotions for it to make sense. She looks down her body and tries to see the trails of what's just happened. Her body seems both new and at the same time the most familiar it's ever been to her – like she's never been as much in it as right now. She walks out of the bathroom and back to her room and tries to wrap her head around the concept of what's transpired.

That's it, she thinks, her entire old world of expectations and mysteries, whispered conversations and want poured into that inner phrase. She suddenly feels giddy from the emotional relief and physical release and giggles, but it comes out more as a strange sob, and with it, she feels that too, so she stops. He looks at her wakefully, slightly panicked, she thinks. He speaks.

"Rory, I'm - "

"You're sorry, I get it." She's not trying to sound snappy but she didn't mean to sob either. Seems she can't control her output. She decides they're going nowhere in this state.

"Can you forgive me?" He asks, weighing the first word.

Her head is full of venom. She closes her eyes to turn it off, hoping to access something deeper. That need that drove her to him in the first place, thinking be damned. She finds it in the sharp ache in her chest, an ache that was dull, but constant, before he arrived tonight.

"Yes." She says and interrupts him as he reaches for her; "but not now, not here. I need to put some distance between me and here."

"Okay," he responds, waiting for further instructions. He looks scared. It's such an unusual expression for him to wear. Yet, at the same time it's how he always looks, she realizes. That wild expression that usually comes out as anger. She's struck by tenderness. The sight of him, naked, on an unmade mattress in a dark room, somehow perfectly illustrates how she felt inside every time she was alone this last year. Her minds rambles through places to go, things to do, there's nothing for the two of them here, at this time of night. She's pretty sure that this could not have happened any other time or place than tonight and here, but now she's having trouble breathing at the thought of staying put. Only one option that offers some amount of normalcy occurs to her.

"Did you bring your car?"

"Yeah," he says.

"Can't believe it still runs." Her smile is crooked, and he mirrors it in return. "You can help me take out my boxes and load them in the car." She pauses. "You're taking me home."

His look is one of chock, bitterness and just a little bit amusement.

"To Stars Hollow?"

"Yeah," she says harshly, "is that a problem?"

His eyes break away from hers and he smiles slightly to himself.

"No," he says.

He quickly gets dressed, and they haul her boxes out to the car. The boxes are heavy, full of books, and they have to walk several times. Luckily he's parked like a criminal, halfway up on the sidewalk on the other side of the building. It's not until she's locking the apartment that she remembers her own car. She swears to herself quietly but quickly lets it go. She's too tired and has a vague memory of something concerning a mattress that might require a pick-up-truck and an extra trip to Yale. She walks up to his car and slips into the passenger seat, wincing a little from the unfamiliar sting between her legs. He gets in the driver's seat and puts the key in the ignition. He turns to look at her.

"You ready?"

A sudden warmth overcomes her.

"Yeah," she says, and he turns the key.

The drive back is quiet. Or, they are. The car sounds like an industrial plant making it near impossible talk, but she's grateful for it. She has nothing more to say. She's angry, but doesn't want to be anymore. The car's heater is too effective, the warmth quickly becomes unbearable and she rolls down a window, letting in a cold gust of night, while the heater scorches her legs. She looks at him. He's looking through the windshield with a concentrated expression. She wonders briefly if he's nervous about being in a car with her again or if it's just the current situation that has him all close-jawed. She smiles to herself. He might be the one at the wheel but she's steering at the moment. She feels safe. She reaches for his hand on the gearshift and holds it, not able to stop smiling. He throws her glances and sighs, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. On arriving at her house he goes to open the trunk but she tells him to leave the boxes, trying to make a quiet entrance to not wake her mother. They sneak in through the kitchen door and she puts on some coffee in spite of it being past midnight. She relishes all the familiarity. Enough new territory for one night, she thinks, suddenly elated. When she brings the coffee mugs into her room, he's on her bed with an open book in his lap. She smiles, the tiniest of outer reactions to what goes on inside at the sight.

[JESS]

"Seems you need to get your priorities straight... You left some of your best stuff here," he says pointing to her bookshelves.

"Well, no matter how I tried I could not justify taking..." She reaches to see what book's in his lap. "... The Dirt to hog up prime bookshelf space. That's my mom's by the way." She adds.

She pulls down her copy of The Fountainhead, hands him one mug and takes a seat next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

"I was hardly referring to Mötley Crüe," he says. "But I'm having a hard time imagining Rand not being on any of your reading lists."

"Like I'm going to bring this into my dorm room!" She responds. "I have enough drama in my life, thank you."

He shoots her a smile and reverts his eyes to his book, even though he really wants to ask her about the drama. But with the risk of him falling under that category, he decides it's better to let sleeping dogs lie. They read for a while in silence. He's thankful for it, being distracted by the physical proximity to her and the night's events. He seesaws between feeling anxious and, god help him, happy. She leans slightly on his shoulder and he puts his arm around her. She immediately jerks and stares at him.

"You can't sleep in here," she says, a not so faint note of accusation in her voice.

"Okay," he says, a tiny smile on his lips, "I can go to Luke's."

"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight so you can slip away in the middle of the night, you're deluded."

She covers her mouth with her hand, looking startled. He loses his smile and stares at her. Moments pass, while he adjusts himself to the idea that the trust thing might take a while.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says slowly, "but I'm pretty sure your mom would take issue with me moving in."

She clenches her jaw and obviously tries to reclaim control of herself.

"You're sleeping on the couch," she says.

"Okay," he says softly.

A while later he's on the lumpy yellow couch in her mom's dark living room, fully dressed, trying to get comfortable, wondering how the hell he got there. This isn't how he thought this night would turn out. At all. He's not stupid. Seriously. He didn't think she'd really leave with him, but it's that dumb book, and Luke being a mensch, and his crazy mother's silly wedding, and the fact that once he got started pouring his heart out he couldn't stop. Maybe this is why all those people insist on vapid small talk. Maybe it's workout for the real conversations, when you need to be able to contain yourself. Choose the right words. And not be a fucking idiot. This town really rubs him the wrong way, and here he is, stuck on its favorite citizen's couch with a promise he can't break. He tries to imagine the night turning out differently, but can't. Every other alternative seems worse. He did make a decision to follow through with this back in her dorm room. It's not the time or place he would have picked, but it wasn't truly up to him, and he's fairly sure that he might have lost her, had he tried to control the situation. From the second she kissed him back he knew he'd pretty much have done anything to keep that, even if it meant turning his plans around a bit. Or 180 degrees. He thinks of her, how she fills up the sky when he's not with her, and how focused he feels when he is, utterly aware of her but comfortable at the same time. As if he's summoned her with his thoughts, he hears sneaking footsteps and feels her weight on him moments later. She rests her head on his shoulder, her feet sticking off the edge of the couch. He spreads his legs so that they entangle with hers and she relaxes. He lies there, trying to understand why his chest still hurts. While missing her during the past year he got used to it, but why now, when she's in his arms?

"So what now?" comes a whisper from the dark.

"I stay. Around." He mumbles. "If you want me to. Tell me what you want."

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you what to do."

He chuckles. "You've been telling me what to do all night!"

She places her chin on his chest to face him. "But it's not like those were life-changing decisions."

"Sure they were," he says without missing a beat.

"But you hate it here," she says quietly after a while.

"I don't hate this."

She's about to say something but he continues-

"Truth is, you're worth it, you always were. And right now, it doesn't seem like such a big sacrifice – moving somewhere closer to Stars Hollow, or doing the driving, remember the 22.8 miles? I like Luke, he's family, and I-

He interrupts himself, realizing he sounds like a broken record.

"I want to be with you." He pauses. "I asked you to come with me, but you can't, so I'll have to stick around. Maybe some other time it'll be you doing the changing." He trails off, abruptly struck by the possibility that she might not want him back, that this was just something she needed to get out of her system and be done with.

"Do you not want to be with me?"

She's quiet, he stops breathing. She puts her lips to his neck and mumbles:

"Yes I do. I think I have since I met you. I just don't think you've really let me before. Not even when we were dating."

He swallows, terrified. This is it.

"I know. We'll do better this time. I'll do better."

She lays her head back on his shoulder.

"For starters you won't run away again," she says with a slightly questioning tone.

"I wasn't 'running away'," he says stubbornly. "But, yeah, for starters."

Moments pass, then she speaks again in a slightly angered, slightly pleading tone.

"Jess, I swear, if you - "

"I won't." He says.

"But - "

"I won't. You can ask me how many times you want, the answer's still going to be the same."

She relaxes in his arms. A minute passes.

"How many times do you think I could ask you before you got really mad?" She asks, her dorky smile audible.

"Guess you're going to have to try me." He says, feeling the ache in his chest alleviate.

"Not now," she mumbles "too tired."

"Start tomorrow." He whispers.

[LORELAI]

Lorelai wakes up in the dark and curses to herself. What the heck is going on? Damn Luke Danes and his weird possibly-sneaky-dating-so-she-wakes-up-the-same-ungodly-hour-as-him-probably-contagiousness! She shakes her head. Maybe not. Was she woken by something? Is Rory home? She rolls out of bed and starts tumbling down the stairs when suddenly she halts in her tracks.

"Whoa!" She lets out.

What the freck is Jess doing on her couch, and goodness that is Rory on top of him! She instinctively readies to clear her throat when her daughter opens her eyes all the way and frantically puts her fingers to her mouth in a hushing motion. Lorelai flinches, but keeps quiet while making her way into the kitchen waving at Rory to follow. She stops at the kitchen door and sneaks a peek as Rory peels herself off the couch and Jess and heads to the kitchen.

"So, uh, you mind filling me in on what's going on, kid?"

"Shh!" Her daughter sounds accusingly. "Could we maybe take this outside or literally anywhere else?"

Lorelai gestures vividly.

"Fine," she hisses, "but if you're going to try to explain what the prodigal son is doing on our couch in a way I'm bound to understand, I'm going to need coffee."

"You and me both," Rory mutters and glares at her.

As soon as the coffee's ready, Lorelai pulls out two mugs, fills them, and allows herself to be pushed out the front door.

"Geez!" Lorelai exclaims. "It's freezing! We're going to need blankets! Your boy in there better not be hogging all of them."

"Hardly, he's hot enough on his own." Rory responds unguardedly "Shut up!" she adds, realizing her mistake.

She disappears, and returns moments later with a heap of blankets. They gear up and sit down in the sofa on the porch. The early morning is still dark, but the sky's starting to turn a greyish blue over the trees.

"What's happening, Rory?" Lorelai asks after their first sip of coffee.

Rory takes another sip and stares into the dark.

"He's back," she says.

"Well, hon, could you try to be a bit more specific? Back? Back for what? The weekend? The summer? Did he leave his jacket? Oh! Has he got back?" Lorelai stops promptly when she sees her daughter blushing wildly.

"Whoa!" She says for the second time this day and it's barely 5 a.m.

"He's back for me," Rory says firmly, fixing Lorelai with a stare, then averting her eyes to take another sip of her coffee. "He says he's staying this time."

"Oh, honey! The things a guy will say to – " Lorelai shakes her head, interrupted by another thought. "Oh my god, what did you do on my couch?"

"Our couch," Rory corrects her, "and nothing! Did you notice?" She gestures to her torso. "Fully dressed!"

"Oldest trick in the book," Lorelai bites off. It's first then that she really sees Jess' car, and the boxes in the back. She gapes and points to it. "Yale! He went to Yale! What happened at Yale, Rory?! I swear, if he-"

"Mom!" Rory exclaims. "It's not like that! Have you met him? Sweet talk isn't exactly his forte. I escalated it, I told him to - I - " She pauses briefly and lowers her voice. "I wanted it... I was ready."

Lorelai can't help it. She's hurt and surprised by this, hurt to be surprised by it, and not a little bit angry that this agitating little punk got to claim her daughter's virginity.

"So how long have you been ready?" She delivers. "When did you decide this?"

Her daughter looks at her helplessly, making her think that maybe this wasn't planned, at all. Then Rory shrugs, and her look becomes challenging.

"Way back before he left last year. You know! I told you!"

"And then he left! I figured that sort of made the statement void."

"I'm sorry!" Rory says pleadingly. "I wish I could have told you before, but he just, showed up tonight, and it... happened. You don't have to worry about me," she continues, "I'm fine, we were safe."

"Like that's my outmost cause for concern," Lorelai snorts, but holds herself back at the sight of Rory's expression. "But honey," she continues, significantly softer, "This is Jess we're talking about! He left, with no warning, repeatedly! Is that really something you want to try again? The stakes are higher when sex is involved..."

"Mom!" Rory says, now sternly. "It's not a discussion. It's too late for that. It's done, there's no use second guessing it now."

Lorelai feels helpless. She knows Rory's right. Talking like that about it is just going to do harm. Why the heck was she channeling Emily just now? Any relation? She grunts in frustration and hugs Rory to take the edge off.

"I'm sorry," Rory says.

"Don't be," Lorelai says. "You shouldn't be sorry. You did nothing wrong."

They sit, tightly pressed together in blankets for a while drinking their coffee and watching the sky grow lighter.

"I worry about your heart," Lorelai finally says. "I can't help it. What if he runs again?"

"He won't." Rory says. "We had a conversation."

"Well, stop the presses! A conversation! It's not exactly life-changing, honey."

"Sure it is," Rory says with a little smile.

Lorelai sighs. She'll never cease trying to protect her daughter. But she's mildly impressed by the faith Rory is capable of summoning. Maybe it's all will power. She drops it. It wont do any good now anyway. She switches to girlfriend-mode.

"So..." She says wiggling her shoulders to match her eyebrows. "How was it?"

Rory rolls her eyes and blushes.

"It was fine. It was good... He was good. To me." She rambles, huffing air through her nose and doing some sort of unreadable hand-gesture, and then promptly dropping it. "I give up," she says.

"Many do," Lorelai says solemnly. Then she smiles. "Well, I'm glad. The first time is usually awkward - "

"It was," Rory intermits.

"So for it to be nice - "

"It was," Rory puts in.

"And with someone you love - "

"I do." Rory says, looking straight at her umbrageously.

Damnit! Lorelai stifles a sigh and feels tiny tears burning in her eyes.

"You'd have to be sort of lucky." She finishes, switching back to mom-mode. "I'm really happy for you then, baby."

She pauses and looks at the sky which is gradually turning golden. She swallows another gulp of cooling coffee and her daughter does the same. She turns back to Rory.

"So how do you feel now?"

Rory shrugs tightly and returns the look.

"Weird!" She says. "Like, anxious and sort of elated and a bit achy. It's a really unnerving feeling."

Lorelai folds an arm over Rory's shoulders.

"Yeah, that's happiness for you, kid," she says and regards her daughter. Rory's eyes are directed at the sunrise and glimmer for a second, and she smiles, in a moment that seems to be all her own. Then she shoots Lorelai a look of disbelief.

"Really?" She says.

Lorelai nods and raises her eyebrows to emphasize it. Rory lets out a "Huh!" that sends chills down her spine. Yeah, this return is going to take a lot of getting used to. Rory sits back, leaning on her.

"Seems like a bit of an over-sell," she says.

"Tell me about it," Lorelai responds.


End file.
